


who you gonna call?

by brophigenia



Series: kavinsky does the gangsey on fire [6]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, Ghost Blow Jobs, Ghost Sex, M/M, REALIZED, but here it fucking is, i alluded to this in the gansey/blue/k fic, if he can kiss he can suck dick, our precious ghost prince, y'all Kavinsky is a fucking nerd you can FIGHT ME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 01:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: “Lynchwouldbe besties with a fuckingghost,what the fuck,” K said, and stroked himself thinking about the sex ghost and Lynch hooking up.(In the frankly too-short-for-all-this-to-reasonably-take-place time between Blue Lily, Lily Blue and The Raven King, Noah decides to get in on the action. Ghost sex ensues.)





	who you gonna call?

**Author's Note:**

> y'all fucking THOUGHT i wouldn't. 
> 
> witness me. WITNESS ME.

There were few things in the whole world that Joseph Kavinsky enjoyed more than the thrill that came from  _ winning.  _

_ I’m going to fuck all your friends,  _ he’d told Lynch, and then  _ done it.  _ The untouchable twosome  _ and  _ Blue Sargent. All of Lynch’s friends, and they’d succumbed to his  _ charms.  _

Oh, what  _ joy.  _ What  _ thrill.  _

What  _ satisfaction.  _ Lynch had laughed at him, hadn’t given him the time of fucking day, had  _ punched him  _ and then said he shouldn’t even  _ try it,  _ like he was so fucking  _ sure  _ they were all above K, the lowliest creature in the world. 

Joke was on fucking  _ him,  _ on  _ all  _ of them, and K sprawled out in his bed and felt luxurious in his arousal, arousal that was 90% mental and only maybe 10% from the feeling of Parrish’s cock that had lately been down around his fucking  _ tonsils.  _ It had been a  _ nice  _ cock too, long and not  _ too  _ thin, cut and flushed the same red as Parrish’s cheeks had gone. 

He squeezed himself over his sweats and laughed breathlessly. “The whole fucking  _ bunch  _ of them,” he mused aloud, not expecting an answer. 

He was not expecting an answer because he was  _ alone,  _ and so that was why he jumped when an answer came, a disembodied voice with just the  _ hint  _ of a California accent. 

“Not quite,” the voice said, and K sat up, looking around with narrowed eyes. His closet doors were flung open, and there was nowhere else for a person to hide, unless they were laid out beneath his bed, which would be  _ fantastically  _ weird. 

“Here,” the voice said, and then the air shimmered and the boy appeared, in the middle of K’s bedroom. Out of thin air. He was… well, he was quite clearly a fucking  _ ghost,  _ which, what the fuck, but also he was quite clearly  _ hot,  _ which, again, what the fuck? But also,  _ hey.  _ Hot ghosts appearing in his bedroom as he was about to jerk off? K had gone through  _ way  _ worse shit. This like, didn’t even register. In what way was this  _ bad?  _

“Wassup, Casper?” K said, deciding to roll with it. He’d lived this long— probably he wasn’t going to choke it over a hotass sex ghost.  _ Probably.  _ The edge of  _ maybe you will, Joseph Kavinsky  _ in the back of his head only made his cock harder, anyway. He fucking lived for this shit. Adrenaline was better than the best high. Adrenaline plus arousal?  _ Fuck  _ yes. 

The sex ghost’s lips twitched. He cocked his head. “You think I’m hot?” He asked, clearly a bit surprised. He went a little less transparent for a second. K watched raptly, taking him in from his tousled, pale hair to his shoulders, hunched but clearly  _ broad.  _ He would’ve been a fucking smokeshow when he was alive— K could appreciate that. Could fill in the blanks a little. He had a good imagination. It came from all the psychotropic drugs. You couldn’t drop acid without having a  _ bit  _ of whimsy in your heart. It was a Thing. 

“I’ve fucked worse,” K assured him, leering. “That’s what you’re here for, right? Is this some kind of, like,  _ energy  _ shit? You need to like, suck my dick to sustain your life force?” He’d totally seen an episode of  _ Buffy  _ like that. Or maybe it was  _ the X-Files.  _ Once he’d realized, at age twelve, what he could  _ do,  _ K had binge watched every 90s supernatural TV show he could stream on Netflix. He’d spent the whole year he was thirteen furiously jerking off to thoughts of a threesome with Spike and Scully. He was basically an expert on this shit. 

“No,” the sex ghost said, pulling a face like he was both confused and amused. K liked that face. He wondered what else that mouth could do. Could ghosts get it up? He had conflicting information on that sphere of questioning. 

“Oh,” K said, and pushed his sweats down his hips, flexing them so his cock waved in the air for a moment before slapping wetly down onto his stomach. The ghost’s eyes followed the motion intently. “You wanna suck my dick anyway?” 

The ghost looked surprised again. “You were thinking about how you’d fucked all Ronan’s friends. You’re wrong.” He informed K, and hovered closer. No really,  _ hovered.  _ K’s eyes could barely focus on the motion. It was some trippy fucking shit. The closer he got, the colder the air was. K got the feeling that the face he could see, shadowy around one cheekbone but otherwise  _ stone cold foxy,  _ was a front. Probably the sex ghost was some terrifying poltergeist. 

(The thought only made his cock harder, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t had a  _ Thing  _ for Dark Willow, so whatever. This wasn’t new. None of this was  _ new.)  _

“Lynch  _ would  _ be besties with a fucking  _ ghost,  _ what the fuck,” K said, and stroked himself thinking about the sex ghost and Lynch hooking up. 

“It doesn’t— it doesn’t  _ do that—“  _ the sex ghost sputtered as K imagined him fucking Lynch, all ectoplasm and probably lots of candles lit all around. K figured Lynch for a candlelight kind of motherfucker. He’d had a lot of time to think about it. He knew Lynch wasn’t  _ any  _ kind of motherfucker, pure as the driven snow, but the fucking  _ thought of it— “ _ and my name is  _ Noah.  _ Not  _ sex ghost.”  _

“Nice to fucking meet ya,” K groaned, and arched his back. “You gonna suck my cock any time this century? Some of us still have lives to live.” 

The sex ghost  _ —Noah—  _ threw back his head and  _ guffawed,  _ a boyishly  _ alive  _ sound that hit K where he fucking  _ lived.  _

And then he put his mouth on K’s cock, which. In theory it had been hot, the thought of a horny ghost manifesting to bring him to the heights of hellacious pleasure. 

In practice it was even fucking  _ better,  _ no matter that the ghost’s mouth was both dry  _ and  _ wet and kind of startlingly cold. K couldn’t  _ quite  _ get a grip in his hair, like he wasn’t solid enough for that, and he wondered if the ghost, if  _ Noah,  _ was even capable of swallowing. 

He didn’t really think about it for long, though, because he was too busy shouting in eye-rolling pleasure as he was deepthroated by a Californian who had been dead for the last decade. 

10/10 would fucking  _ recommend.  _

Afterward, the ghost grinned a little shy, a little wild, just a  _ teensy  _ bit  _ off.  _ Hot and vaguely menacing. It was K’s type to a fucking  _ tee.  _ There was a reason he usually ended up fucking the people who punched him in the face, after all. 

“Now you’ve got your set,” Noah said, and K grinned back, loopy with it. Practically fucking delirious. 

“Caught em all,” he agreed, and lay basking in the warmth of his own victory until dawn. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
